Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

Page 19 text:

Literary rpHE “ Tiger” Staff takes pleasure in printing for its Literary sec- tion, the following poems written by the class poet, Barbara Knowles. These poems have ap- peared previously in the “Cub” and are among the best which have been submitted during the year. NORTHERN LIGHTS Arc lights of the Arctic, Flaring into the midnight sky. Turned on and off by invisible hands ; Making pale by comparison. The countless windows of Heaven, Yours is an important light For you announce the premiere of the hoary winter star. A MISPLACED IDOL My little pagan paper weight. An ancient of the east. You should be in a temple Surrounded by a feast. An ancient Chinese temple, With incense, bells, and gongs. With candles all around you And haunting, chanting songs. You ought to be in robes of silk The ancient priests have made. You ought to breathe the incense Your people burn for you. Hazy, sweet, and heavy clouds With candles flickering through. But, my little Chinese idol. You’re on a foreign sod; Now you’re just a paper weight. Not a petted, pampered god. MARCH SPRING CLEANING The angels up in Heaven, Must be cleaning house again. For they’re shaking out their pil- lows In a steady flowing train. I haven’t any doubt but that They must be awfully neat And keep the streets of Heaven Verv clean and sweet. They begin about December To shake their pillows out. There are a dreadful lot of them I haven’t any doubt. For it takes them through the month of March, To finish up the work. It couldn’t be that they are slow For angels never shirk. 17

Page 18 text:

Editorial W E have reached a gateway now — the gateway to life. We approach this portal as many classes have approached it before us, and we stand on the brink of the future as they have done. Be- fore setting forth into the new ter- ritory, it is fitting that v e pause momentarily to sharpen our mem- ories. In retrospect, we recall the jum- ble of our first year and one-half in crowded quarters at the Manning School, the endless stairs — step after step — leading up into our home room on the third floor, our rather wild-eyed, untamed ranks as we scrambled from one event to the next. We shall never forget our epoch-making march from Central Street to Green Street, launching a new era in our progress. We can- not be insensible to the advantacres that we have enjoyed since our change of domicile. The increased opportunity for social life and the er tension of athletic facilities have been appreciated by us. We only regret that we are no lonf -er privil- eged to enjoy these pleasures in these particular sui roimdings among the congenial companions and friends which have meant so much to us. We feel or hope that as we have advanced through high school years, we have attained some degree of calmness and maturity. Our high school days will be glad memories for us. With a jolt, however, v c are brought back to the present and suddenly realize that we stand on the brink of the unknown — the future. Unfamiliar fields lie before the gatev ay. Our outlook is not encouraging, and we cannot say Tvith Browning that “AlTs right with the world.’’ On the other hand, we muld not, with Shelley, “Wail for the world’s wrong.’’ True, the pro- verbial depression lingers, but it m- v be some encouragement for us to consider that conditions can- not grow worse, and they may grow ’ etter. We shall stand and test our footing in the new world that lies nhead vdth the firmest determina- tion to carry on and not to falter by t m gateway. 16

Page 20 text:

RAIN Hear the rain drops on the roof; Dripping, dripping, dripping. Dripping, dropping, drizzling. Drenching the parched, dry roof. Driving in a down pour From the drab dull sky. Drumming, drumming, drumming. On the dank, dark roof. Dripping, dripping, dropping Down the drab, dull drain. Droning on the roof top. Driving, drizzling rain. Dwindling, dwindling, dv.dndling. Diminishing, drop — drop — drop. Dropping in a drizzle. On the drab roof top. HALLOWE’EN The eerie wind, the cloud-swept sky Over the trees, where the witches fly To keep their annual rendez-vous. If you watch close, you can see them, too. Holding their cats that howl and wail, As past the face of the moon they sail. And the townsfolk lock their win- dows and doors. While the v histling wind down the chimney soars. For every one knows that ghosts are seen On the dark, weird night of Hal- lowe’en. Graduation Essays American Progress in World’s Fairs by Alma O’Brien T he first world’s fair in Amer- ica was held in New York in 1853. It v as an almost exact rep- lica of the London Crystal Palace Exposition of two years before which was still attracting huge crowds. America discovered, how- ever, that it didn’t pay to copy or to celebrate European anniversar- ies, for the Crystal Palace was not the whaling success that it was predicted it would be. This fair was very different from the ones u’th which we are familiar. The exhibitions were all housed in one hup-e iron and glass building, but the roof, which ' as to have been the crowning glory of the fair, leaked in rain storms. We are in- 18